Dark Elf
by Akedhi
Summary: My take on Aredhel and Eol. Eventually will follow entire story (up to Eol's death, of course) PG-13 for dark imagery and violence (also wee bit of sexual content) There is now a new chapter seven! Finally... -sweatdrop-
1. Prologue

[Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not mine; they are Tolkien's. He is the genius, I am only borrowing from his shine.]  
  
The hammer rings off the star-iron as I forge the twin to Anglachel. The same metal, the same forge, the same hammer, the same smith. But this time, it's different. This blade seems to forge herself, growing out of the metal, like a tree out of the earth.  
  
The blade is nearly ready. I plunge the white-hot metal into the stone water trough. It steams and hisses. Her voice is different than Anglachel, softer somehow. This sword is nearly finished.  
  
I lay the blade aside; it's time to begin work on the hilt. Slowly, the twisted vines of the grip come into being, twining up from the base. A smile hovers on my face through the soot of the forge and the sting of the sparks that fly from the coals. This, my forge, my weapons and my art, is what I live for. It is my love.  
  
****  
  
At last, the sword is finished. I look at her for a moment, engraving her lines into my mind, learning her name. She glints in the red light of the dying fire, almost as though she has already tasted blood. Perhaps from the flickering of the coals, perhaps my eyes are wavering from the long exposure to the sparks and the smoke, but she seems to breathe softly.  
  
"Anguirel," I say aloud. Living Star-iron. It is a good name. She will wear it well.  
  
I turn from my forge and stride into my armory. Hanging on the wall is her twin, Anglachel, a blank space reserved for her beside him. I hang her in it, comparing the swords. Anglachel is heavy, a broadsword forged for war. Anguirel is lighter, slimmer, almost a rapier and meant for-more personal battles.  
  
I survey all of my creations. Some are weapons, battle-axes, swords, spears. Some are more decorative, delicate filigree crowns and necklaces, meant to adorn a fair maid. I once made a present of one of my necklaces to the dwarf-king's wife; she laughed and returned it, saying that it was too elvish for her liking. I suppose it, and the rest of the jewelry, will hang here in my armory for a very long time, unless I find an elven-maid worthy of it. 


	2. An Interesting Meal

[Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. (I only wish…)

I wander through the dim woods of Nan Elmoth, marking new shapes, new designs for my art. There, a flower that grows in a certain way that is unfamiliar to me. Here, a tree that is bent thus-and-so. The inspirations are endless-  
  
What is that?  
  
A flash of white moves through my dark woods, almost casting a light of its own, like a star come down to rest in the midst of the forest. Silently, I move to investigate.  
  
A sharp intake of breath. A woman. A woman, so fair that she puts my best art to shame. Her hair is an unbroken fall of black to at least her knees, though it is hard to tell with part of it bound up, I suspect to keep it out of her way. Her skin is the white of moonlight, glinting almost like silver in the dark of my woods. She is clad all in white, an interesting contrast to my own dark garb, which is black to better fade into the shadows of my trees.  
  
I want her.  
  
I want her as I have never wanted anything before. She calls to me, stronger than my urge to create, stronger even than my love of darkness. For her, I think I would dare the sunlight-  
  
What am I thinking? I-I do not know what has come over me, I who have always held myself apart from those elves who cast themselves at the feet of maidens, preferring my more predictable iron and steel to their coy games. The only maid who ever held herself aloof from those games was Melian's daughter, and I knew better than to set my sights on her; Thingol would never stand for me as a suitor. I am too strange, too dark, and too.Dwarven, for lack of a better word.  
  
But this woman.this woman seems to have cast a spell over me, like Luthien over her many, many suitors. I will have her, at whatever cost.  
  
These woods are mine in truth, mine in a way that no paltry king can hope to compete with. Every tree, every bush, every stone knows me and bends to my will. And now, my will is that the path of this maid will turn ever more slowly toward my door, while I go to prepare my home for her. All must be perfect.  
  
****  
  
"Welcome to Nan Elmoth, my lady." I say, making a deep bow, after the custom of Elu Thingol's court. Her reaction surprises me; instead of giggling or some other silly thing, she returns me a cool nod, as though she is used to such treatment and takes it only as a matter of course. I wonder.  
  
"Thank you, my lord. May I ask whom I have the pleasure of addressing?" Her voice rings, bell-like, in the quiet of my shadowed home.  
  
"I am Eöl, sometimes called Dark Elf, but no lord. I leave that title to the gentle folk of Thingol's court."  
  
Her face darkens with a swiftly concealed grimace at the mention of Thingol's name. I wonder how the king managed to incur her wrath; it might be useful to know such, that I might not do the same. Swiftly, I move on to safer ground (I hope).  
  
"And your name, my lady?"  
  
"Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, often called the White Lady of Gondolin."  
  
Gondolin!? She would come from that nest of Noldorin scum! I can hardly contain my anger, and it is with much effort that I manage to answer civilly, "I imagine that you are tired, my Lady Aredhel. Would you care for some refreshment?"  
  
"Indeed, Lord Eöl, I am indeed hungry and weary. These woods are rather inhospitable to those unused to foraging for themselves."  
  
And well they might be, for my woods seem to have acquired my distaste for visitors. But I do not say this aloud, saying only, "Then, my lady, shall we to dinner?"

****

I keep stealing furtive glances at my unexpected, but not unwelcome guest. I'm still not entirely certain how to react to her homeland. Gondolin is full of Noldorin beasts, yet they somehow produced this. Each glance at her gives me a new idea, another design. I could create a thousand new pieces from this one meal with her. It seems strange, this feeling. I don't know if I like it...  
  
Aredhel moves with the same grace displayed by a bird in flight. A falcon or a hawk. Certainly not one of those birds kept in cages to sing, whiling away the empty time of the equally empty heads of those who think themselves so important. My music is the ringing of hammer on steel, the sizzle of a new blade in the cooling waters.  
  
The voice of Aredhel breaks into my reverie. I look up as she repeats her question. "If I may ask, Lord Eöl, how did you come to be living here in these dark woods?"  
  
I shrug my shoulders, which are stooped from constant bending over the anvil. "Eöl, my lady. I am no lord. In truth, I sought peace. I am no lover of the intrigues of court. I prefer solitude and the company of my friends the Naugrim, who are smiths, as I am."  
  
Her interest sparks, and she asks while I lift a goblet of wine, "A smith?"  
  
I nod, and she continues, "My uncle was a smith of renown. Perhaps you've heard of Fëanor, the--"  
  
I choke and slam my goblet to the table. Wine sloshes over my hand, bearing an uncanny resemblance to blood. My voice is as cold as unworked iron as I say, "My lady. If you have any respect for me as a host, do not ever mention the name of that--murderer--" I can think of far worse names for that creature than that. "--in my house again. Never."  
  
She recoils, whether from my tone or from my condemnation of her uncle I do not know. I am sorry that I have insulted her so, but I will not have that Kinslaying madman praised within these walls. Recovering her composure, she replies, "I crave pardon, Master Eöl. I did not realize that Fë--my uncle offended you so. May I ask what he has done to incur your wrath?"  
  
"Besides his murder of my kin, his war-mongering ways, and his greed? Nothing."  
  
A light dawns in her face. "You are Teleri, then?"  
  
"Indeed I am, my lady."  
  
"Then I am doubly sorry. Once for my thoughtless words, once for my uncle's actions. Forgive me?"  
  
How could I remain angry with her? "It is willingly granted, my lady."  
  
We eat the remainder of our meal in silence. The food tastes different than ever before; wine is sweeter, meat more tender, the fruits fresher than when they were still on the tree. It has been years since I have enjoyed my food this way. I thought my sense of taste dulled long ago, burned away from hours spent in my forge, but Aredhel's apparently genuine pleasure in the meal is infectious.  
  
The hall is brighter, somehow, for her presence, though the lights are as dim as usual; I allow no more light than that provided by a few rush lamps and a fireplace in winter. As with all the changes in me in these past few hours, I am not sure if I like it. But then, I am not sure that I don't either.  
  
****  
  
Dinner at last over, I have a servant show her the way to my only guest chamber not arranged for the comfort of a dwarf. I--I don't trust myself enough to take her to a bedroom. I would rather have her willing than unwilling.  
  
I watch her glide out of the room, then I turn and stride to my forge. I have a great deal of thinking to do. A very great deal.


	3. One Evening

[Disclaimer: Not mine.]

Three weeks since Aredhel found her way to my door. Three weeks since my world did a somersault and started to walk on its hands and backwards. I find I rather like the new view. I think.  
  
Aredhel took time to grow accustomed to my way of life--spending the day resting and working or wandering through the night. The servants tell me that she asked about me during the daytime hours the first few days of her stay, curious why she only saw me in the evening and early morning. Then tonight, she surprised me by remaining after her dinner, my breakfast, and asking me directly.  
  
"Why do you shun the day, milord? Why do you spend your nights at your forge or in your forest?"  
  
I was startled enough to answer truthfully, "I dislike the sun, my lady. Had you lived long in this area, you would doubtless have heard of my...eccentricities." I added with a slight smile, "I'm rather famous, actually."  
  
She pushed back a stray wisp of galvorn-black hair and studied me for a moment with her mithril-grey eyes. "What is your plan tonight?"  
  
"I was going to start a--why do you ask, my lady?"  
  
Her clear laugh rang in the quiet hall. "I would like to join you, of course. Why else would I ask?"  
  
My mouth worked silently for a moment before I managed to get anything out. I must have looked remarkably foolish; Aredhel's eyes crinkled up and she looked rather like she wanted to laugh.  
  
"Join me? Why would you want to join me?"  
  
"Why not?" she countered.  
  
I had no answer to that, but I did quickly revise my plans for the evening. "In that case, would you like to see my world, my lady Aredhel?"  
  
"It would be my pleasure, my lord Eöl."  
  
"Eöl, my lady. Simply Eöl."  
  
"Eöl."  
  
****  
  
We walk through the dark woods of Nan Elmoth. I have not yet told her where we are going, but I am impressed by her calm acceptance of the night sounds. I somehow doubt that the fluff-heads in Thingol's court would be as comfortable walking by my side, alone in the night. I would even go so far as to say that some of the warriors would be intimidated by the sheer weight of the darkness.  
  
A white gleam through the trees ahead tells me that we have nearly arrived. I don't come here often; it's too easy to lose track of time and get caught by the sun. It's one of my favorite places, though--where Thingol and Melian met. I think Melian must have left something of herself here; it's never seemed quite like the rest of Nan Elmoth. The trees don't know me here. It's one of the few places where the sky is still visible. The stars shine through and reflect off a little pool. Aredhel's mouth opens in soundless wonder as she takes in the softly lit glade. I smile, which I have been doing much more often of late, at her undisguised delight in the pale glow of the stars. This is the brightest light I can bear comfortably; I sometimes wonder if the sparks of the forge have damaged my vision in some way, though I can see perfectly in darkness.  
  
An answering smile breaks across her face. "I had no idea there were places like this hidden away in these dark woods. I think I see how you can choose to stay here now, if this is a sample."  
  
Is she just speaking politely, or does she really mean it? I wonder. She doesn't appear to expect an answer as she slips into the glade, which is perhaps fortunate, as I don't think I could speak anyway. I have to remind myself to breathe. This is where Aredhel belongs, here in the moonlight. Her white gown reflects the light and multiplies it 'til I can hardly bear looking at her. But I cannot look away either.  
  
I have to have her. Now.  
  
Whatever else this glen may be, it is certainly *not* large. Within three strides I have crossed the soft grass to Aredhel. She looks back, starts visibly, and begins to say something. "Eöl. . .?"  
  
She doesn't finish, as it is rather difficult to speak through a kiss. She tastes of the wine we had with dinner; perhaps that is why I am intoxicated. She pushes me away, gasping. I am suddenly afraid that I've ruined any chance I might have had with her. If I have . . . well, she will be mine anyway.  
  
She regains her composure and draws herself up with icy dignity. "What," she asks, "Was *that* for?"  
  
I shrug a little. "You're so beautiful."  
  
She gives me a confused look, as if to say, 'Is that *all*?'  
  
"Please, don't look at me like that."  
  
"Lord Eöl, you have not answered my question."  
  
"I want to make you my wife."  
  
"What!?" She looks at me once more, shocked and a little horrified, I'm afraid. We have been standing very close, after the kiss, but now she whirls and flees into the darkness beyond the glade. I stand silent for a moment. She can't get out of my forest without my allowing her, and the Girdle of Melian reaches even here, so I do not worry that anything will happen to her.  
  
Still, I follow her at a respectful distance, as silent as the shadows in which I dwell.


	4. Follow

How long can a woman run? I ask myself absently as I follow the white shape that is Aredhel. What she doesn't know is that she is running towards my home. I should have waited for her, allowed her to grow accustomed to me, but I didn't. The end result will be the same -- I *will* have her for my wife.  
  
Ahead of me, she slows and stops. I suppose she's trying to get her bearings, to find her way. A faint smile passes swiftly across my face and is as quickly gone. I know exactly where we are. The door of my home is not more than a few minutes walk from here. I can smell the acrid smoke of the forge.  
  
Aredhel starts walking, not running this time; probably she has decided that since I'm not chasing her, I must have given up. I wonder what she's thinking about me. . . I don't imagine she's any too pleased with the way her steps are leading. I wouldn't be.  
  
We continue in this manner for a little longer, but now I turn aside and take a more direct route home. I wait for a few minutes, then Aredhel breaks into the clearing. She stops, bewildered when she sees me standing there waiting for her. My smile is almost a smirk.  
  
"Welcome back, my lady."  
  
She says nothing, only crosses her arms and waits for me to explain.  
  
"I have many talents, my lady," I pause and glance up at the trees. This is the darkest part of Nan Elmoth, but the sun can find the smallest cracks and send her rays even into the deepest forest. "Perhaps we should move this discussion indoors."  
  
Her expression of distaste at this suggestion is just short of horror. "I prefer the sunlight." Her voice is cold.  
  
"But I do not, my lady." She doesn't move. I sigh. "Very well. You may stand out here all day if you like."  
  
I turn and stride into my house, leaving her to stand alone in the darkness of Nan Elmoth for the next twelve hours. After ordering one of the servants to watch her, I go to my forge. I need to think about this. There must be a way to win her, even after tonight's debacle.  
  
****  
  
"Sir, the sun is setting."  
  
"Wha--oh, thank you."  
  
I look at the lump of iron that I've been pounding on for the past hour. As yet, it has no definite shape, except for being flat. If I leave it now, it won't hurt anything. And I need to do something about Aredhel. So I hang the hammer and tongs on their pegs, and signal to my assistant, whose name I do not know and do not care to know, to cease pumping the bellows. I have worked days at a time before, but I think Aredhel is more important than a project for which I don't really have a plan.  
  
I pass through my storage room on the way, and pause for a moment. Should I bring a gift as a peace offering? I think I should. But which one? I examine each piece of jewelry minutely, trying to decide which, if any, would be worthy to ornament her beauty. Maybe this, a necklace of delicate iron filigree, twining around and around itself in patterns of vines and flowers. Or perhaps this, one of my experiments in silver, delicate links that are so closely interwoven that it appears to be a solid piece, but is as flexible as cloth, like galvorn, only glowing white.  
  
No. Not those. This.  
  
I must have had her in mind when I made this. Tiny gems wink out of the cloth-like folds that fall from a crown of intertwined strands. The entire piece weighs no more than a veil of the same size. This will be my peace offering. I hope I can salvage something.

****

"My lady Aredhel?" I don't wish to frighten her again so I stand back, hopefully far enough away that she doesn't feel threatened. I am afraid that it may be a futile gesture, this peace offering of mine, but I can at least *try* to win her before--well, before forcing her. I'd like her to choose me, but she will be mine. I don't care what I have to do.

"My lady?"

The eyes she turns on me are wide and frightened. I take a step back. "Why do I always find myself back here? Why do I walk in circles when I know I follow a straight path? Why can't I leave?"

"I told you; I want to make you my wife. These woods know me and obey me. I have lived in this darkness since Thingol began his rule. As long as I don't want you to leave, you won't."

"You are harsh, Master Eöl. Very harsh."

"No, my lady. Not harsh. Determined." This conversation is not going well at all. "Aredhel, am I so strange, so repulsive, that you shrink from me? Am I so terrible that you fear me so?"

"Oh, no, *no*, Eöl."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

I take her chin in my hand, gently turning her to face me, and hold out the carefully chosen gift to her. She starts to push it away. "Take it. I may not be as well-featured as your kin, but I can make things of beauty quite as well."

"I can't accept this."

"Why not? Because of what it means? Or is it because I'm not one of the Kinslayers? Would you accept it from one of them?"

"You're asking me a question I cannot answer."

"Cannot? I think you mean will not. Fine." I drop the glittering thing to the ground. It's worthless if it can't win her for me. "My lady, you can't leave Nan Elmoth. I won't allow it, and here, I rule as no king ever could. You can choose as you will--live with me in comfort or starve in the forest." 

It is no choice at all, and we both know it. I am half-astonished at my own actions, but I don't care. I have to have her. She has become an obsession. Somewhere in my heart, I know this union of light and darkness can only lead to sorrow, but if I can only have her for a little time, death itself will seem a small price to pay for the privilege.

Aredhel's gaze is about as warm as a sword-blade as she looks searchingly into my face. Then, as if finding something she did not expect, she smiles faintly and her expression thawe a little. I wonder what her eyes found in mine . . .

"How can I resist such a generous offer?" Her smile widens slightly, but it is devoid of any real warmth.

My hand has not left her face all this time and I am suddenly very aware of her skin under my fingers. Her skin is so soft and smooth. My hands are so rough and hard, unused to this gentleness. Metalwork is not an art that encourages softness. I am almost afraid that I will hurt her. Her eyes close. Steeling herself for an expected ordeal?

I jerk my hand away as though burned. I don't want her to have to close her eyes to bear my touch. I want her to want me, to enjoy my caress. I turn away.

"Come inside whenever you wish."

****

Why in all Arda did I do that, I ask myself. She could hardly refuse me, not without condemning herself to death. Why did I stop?

I pace up and down in my empty bedchamber, berating myself for not taking her when I had the chance, yesterday. It would have been so easy; I am far stronger than she is, from working days at a time at my forge. . . But would I have been able to live with myself if I hurt her that way?

I don't know.

I suppose I still cherish some kind of hope that she will come to me willingly, but that flame died to an ember long since, and the ember is swiftly dying completely.

Damn the woman anyway! Why did she have to come along and confuse me so? Life was so much easier before she came. I understood everything so much better. Before she came, I was content to work my forge and visit my friends at the mountain for metals. I was so sure that life would never change.

Almost, I don't believe that only three weeks have passed since I saw the white gleam of her garb shining through the darkness of my woods. So much has happened. . .

"Milord?"

I turn, startled. Aredhel is silhouetted in the doorway, watching me. My breath comes faster. I am sharply reminded just what this room is.

"Aredhel." My voice is unfamiliar to my ears, harsh and rasping. "Is there something you need?"

"I'd like to speak with you."

"So speak. I won't stop you."

She steps further into the room, though not, I notice, shutting the door behind her. Is she so afraid of me that she feels she must leave a way of escape? I do not find that a pleasant thought.

"I thought I should apologize for my coldness. It was a lovely gift you offered--"

"Don't pretend with me, Aredhel. If you hate me, hate me, but don't try to pretend to me that you don't."

She starts as though caught doing something she oughtn't.

"I don't hate you, I just. . . don't like you very much at the moment. How could I? You are forcing me to leave everything I've ever known for a life I'd never imagined could exist a few weeks ago. But even with that, I don't think I could hate you. You confuse me, Master Eöl. I don't know what to think of you, but I don't hate you."

"Don't you? I think you do," I say. I hope I didn't sound bitter, but I doubt it.

"I don't, truly."

Is that so? I ask silently. Then you wouldn't mind another kiss, would you? Maybe even more than a kiss…


	5. Of Anger

[Disclaimer: It's all Tolkien's.]

A year has passed since I took Aredhel as my wife. Then, I lived nearly alone, surrounded by silence, with no expectation or desire for my life to ever change. Now--

Aredhel's delighted laughter, mixed with chiming music, interrupts my reverie. I see she has discovered my bells. They were an experiment in musical instruments that did not work quite the way I had planned. I meant for them to catch the wind and play, like those simple windchimes that some people think so lovely, but the idea was for them to play a tune. The problem occurred when I could not find one. Music is not one of my greatest skills and I honestly could not think of anything for them to play. So, they have been sitting unfinished for some time now, waiting for me to pick them up once more. I do have the rest of eternity to finish, after all. In the meanwhile, let Aredhel play them. Even without the mechanical aspect finished, they do make nice sounds.

So she has apparently found, for the simple chimes I heard at first have given way to a definite tune, one that I do not recognize, though _that_ is no real surprise. I have never paid much attention to the music of the courts. She makes the bells sing of mighty deeds. I had not known that such delicate pieces could thunder like that. I rather enjoy the music's pleasant background.

Until she starts to sing softly.

Her voice is wonderful, but the song she has chosen, that I have been enjoying for the past few moments, is a song in praise of the 'mighty deeds' of the Noldorin beasts. How dare she play such noise under my roof? How_ dare she!?_

I am halfway across the room from where I was, my vision misted with red. I shout something incoherent even to my ears. I do not even know what I said, only that it was angry words. I reach the other side of the room, fists raised, in the next moment. Aredhel shrinks back, her eyes wide and questioning, but I do not look at her for more than an instant. My fury focuses on the silver bells that have been so defiled. The same hands that made them will destroy them and the taint with them.

The thin silver crumples easily under my clenched fists. The frame is soon only a twisted wreck, completely unrecognizable. The bells themselves shatter and the pieces are flattened under my metal-shod feet. I glare at the mess, then look up.

Aredhel has backed as far away from me as possible. Her eyes are frightened and even wider than they were. I am suddenly aware that my hands are still fisted and raised, ready to strike more than just the bells. I look down again and catch a glimpse of my reflection in a piece of the polished metal. 

The expression on my face is a grimace of pure rage. My features are distorted and twisted, like a caricature of an elf. No, like some sort of monster. I do not know myself. I look at my Aredhel. She is so slender, so beautiful, so frightened. She is frightened of me, and I do not blame her in the least.

I could have killed her.

"Eöl?" Her voice is faltering, hesitant.

I could have _killed_ her.

With a strangled cry, I turn and flee from the room like a coward. I cannot face her like this.

"Eöl!"

****

I am pounding on things again. The heat of the forge seems very appropriate after my rage. It is safe to hit these things, safe to vent my fear and anger on these things of metal. They cannot feel and I cannot truly harm them with my blows. I can always melt them down and begin again if I break something, but that is not exactly an option when dealing with my wife.

I have never felt such rage before. I have been angry (who has not?), but not to a level where I destroy my own work. And not to a point where I could have commited murder. I did not know I was capable of such things.

I cannot risk it happening again; what if I am unable to stop? What if I do kill her?

I will not allow it. I will not spend so much idle time with her. I will go to the mountains, I will work in the forge. I dare not lose myself in rage again. I dare not take the chance of not being able to stop.

The image of the bells I destroyed floats in the back of my mind as I stride out of the forge room, through the armory and into the forest. My mind keeps replacing the scattered fragments with blood.

I am a league away before I stop seeing her lying on the ground before me, broken and battered. Then I realize it is daylight.

Curses spring to my lips as I look for somewhere to hide from the sun. All I can find is a pair of trees, twined around each other and forming a hollow at their base. It will have to do.

I kneel in the hollow and pull my black cloak over my eyes and wait for nightfall.


	6. At Tumunzahar

[A/N: I know, I know, Tumunzahar is probably quite a bit farther from Nan Elmoth than one and a half day's run, even for an elf. But hey, if the three hunters can run from Amon Hen to Rohan in a couple days, surely one elf can run to Tumunzahar, especially one as upset as Eöl. If anyone actually knows how long it would take, do let me know. For now, I'll leave it as is.

Apologies to Staggering Wood Elf for the name Sarin, and to Maeve Riannon for the idea that Eol knew Telchar and that he traded galvorn with the Dwarves for iron. I'm horrible with making up my own names, especially Dwarven ones.

And one last thing: I don't usually respond to reviews, but I simply had to make an exception for Ren: if you don't like Eol, how can you possibly be enjoying this story?

Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly.]

My cloak does not block all the sunlight that seeps through the trees, but it blocks enough. It seems the sun hunts me at times, doing her best to find me even in the darkness of my home. Only underground, at Tumunzahar or Nan Elmoth, am I safe from her painful rays.

But now, now the thin light coming through my cloak fades and dies. Night has fallen while my body sat here and my mind wandered the paths of dreaming. I unfold from the little hollow that has done its best to provide shelter for me all this day. Nan Elmoth lies behind me, and my thoughts fly to Aredhel for a moment. I dare not go back just yet; I am afraid that I will be too easy to anger so soon.

Besides, I have been neglecting my friends and I need ore. So I begin my journey to Tumunzahar once more. Perhaps among the other smiths and the ringing of iron I can lose all my anger.

****

I have finally reached the mountain after running nearly all night. Now I must wait for the sentries to acknowledge me and let me in. That would be all right, as long as they do not take until day to do it.

"He's an _Elf,_ Sarin," rumbles one gravelly voice.

"I know he's an Elf, but we do trade with them, you know."

"Yes, but do we let just any Elf who wanders by into our home?"

Impatient, I look around, wondering how long this argument will go on. I happen to glance toward the east, which is beginning to have a faint glow. Oh, no. I do not care to wait an hour or two while they decide that I am harmless, not while the sun is coming up.

I interrupt the one whose name I have yet to hear. "My good dwarves, I am indeed here to trade, but the sun may not bother you, perhaps, but it does me. One of you, run inside and tell Telchar that Eol is here. He will vouch for me." I glance to the east again, where there is now a distinct light. Here on the side of the mountain, there are no trees to protect me. I wince and look away before it burns my eyes. "Hurry."

One of them scrambles away, perhaps intimidated by me, but more likely eager for the burden of what to do with me off his hands. Fortunately for me, he returns quickly. "Telchar sends to say that it's about time you came back and to let you in."

"My thanks."

****

Telchar is only half my height, muscular, full-bearded, and hearty. But there is even less brown in his hair than there was last time I visited, and the smile lines around his eyes are deeper. It suddenly strikes me that he may join his ancestors in only a few short years, years which will seem nothing to me, but will draw him ever closer to old age and death. Why do I make friends with these short-lived people? They always die and leave me alone once more. Only now, I have Aredhel, and she will never die, if I can protect her from myself.

"Eol! Welcome back, my friend. I had begun to think that you had forgotten all about us. Where have you been this past year?" His voice has not changed at least. Nor has his manner, which he seems to share with all the Khazad.

"Forgotten you? Never. How could I forget such a stink?" I fall back into the curious way we have of teasing each other easily. The Dwarves are actually fairly easy on me, knowing that their humor is strange to me, Elf that I am. But I can at least give as good as I get, even if it is not quite up to their usual standards.

"Stink, eh? You should smell yourself if you think we stink. So where _have_ you been?"

"Home."

Telchar arches a bushy brow. "That all? Sure you haven't been running around Menegroth or perhaps wandering Beleriand?"

"No, I've been home."

"And that's really all." He does not seem to believe me.

"I have a wife now, my friend."

"A wife? By Mahal, this is news indeed. _Now_ I know why you've not come. You've been busy, haven't you." He laughs, booming in the small room. I smile faintly in return, but he sees something in my face and sobers.

"Wife trouble already, eh?"

I nod, and somehow, the entire story of our mad courtship spills out. Her heritage, the flight through the woods, the bells, and my subsequent flight from Nan Elmoth all tumble out like coals out of a fire. But Telchar, instead of being burned, merely watches me and waits for me to finish.

"Go back and face her, my friend."

"What?"

"Do you love her?" I nod, and he continues. "Then go back and tell her. If you leave it like this, the rift will grow and it will quickly become too wide to cross."

I had taken no thought on that. I had only meant to protect her from me, but Telchar's words make sense. How did one so young become so wise?

"You may be right, but that is not the only reason I am here. I need more iron; I seem to have run out of material to work."

Then follows a spirited bargaining session, in which I promise a certain amount of _galvorn_ in exchange for a certain amount of raw iron.

****

I spend a week with my friends, catching up on news and working on various projects that Telchar says need a finer touch than most. Occasionally, the two of us simply sit and share a drink of Dwarven ale. I believe I am one of the few Elves to ever taste it, and possibly the only one who likes it. I sometimes wonder if Iluvatar meant me to be born a Dwarf, but my spirit lost its way. Though if that were so, then there would have to be a Dwarf somewhere meant to be an Elf, which goes too easily down the path of absurdity.

I have enjoyed this visit, but now I must go home. I believe I will take Telchar's advice, and face Aredhel.


	7. The Return Home

((A/N: Looky here, I'm finally updating Dark Elf. 

sweatdrop I apologize to anyone who's been wondering where on earth I'd got to; my computer access vanished and before that Eöl simply would _not_ behave. Also I couldn't figure out what should happen when he got home. Obviously, that is fixed now, and here is the next chapter. Finally.

Disclaimer: Eöl, Aredhel, and Nan Elmoth aren't mine. As much as I would love to lay claim to Eöl…))

I am still mulling things over when I reach home. I open the door half in a daze. I am not certain what I expected to find when I arrived—images of Aredhel lying crumpled at my feet spring to mind unbidden. I push them away with a shudder—but this stillness is not it. It is exactly like every other time I returned from Tumunzahar in the past, but different, because it should not be the same. There is no sign of Aredhel's presence, or even her existence, as I leave the entryway and cross the larger hall. Perhaps I imagined the whole thing. How Telchar would laugh.

My bedchamber is the one room that shows any signs that she was ever here. In tangible things, like the silver-worked clothing rack I created for her and the jewelry that hangs by the polished plate. In less tangible things, like the feel of the air in the room and the scent of her that just barely clings to the bedding. There is a white comb lying on the little table beside the bed with a single black hair caught in its teeth. Hesitantly, I touch it, running my rough fingers along its curve, eyes closed.

A whisper of cloth against cloth. I turn, opening my eyes, and wince. The figure in the doorway bears a light brighter than I can stand, so I throw up my arm to shield my sensitive eyes.

"Eöl?"

Aredhel's voice. She sounds surprised, but not frightened. I am glad of that, but I wish I knew whether her lack of fear is because she is hiding it or because she truly is not afraid… There is no joy in her voice at seeing me. I suppose I shouldn't expect it, but…

"Where did you go?"

The light remains. I wonder if she is using it as a shield, to keep me from coming any closer. The thought is not any more comforting than her lack of gladness. "To Tumunzahar—" I realize that she would not know this name, it being rather different from most of my people's name for that place. "To see my friends, the dwarves."

"Why?"

I wish she would not ask so many questions. I do not want to explain why I fled, nor do I want to explain the advice I was given by Telchar… And yet, if I say nothing… "I needed more iron." That's only half of it, and the least important half at that. But…

She sounds skeptical. "That's all?"

"Well, no, but… Aredhel, would you _please_ put that light down?"

The light is suddenly less. I drop my arm, to see her standing in the doorway with a now-covered lantern in her hands. I do not recognize it… where did she get such a thing? My eyes narrow in sudden suspicion. Has she left Nan Elmoth while I have been gone? Where would she have gone?

No, no of course not. She would not have had time to go anywhere and come back. It must simply be something that I or one of my assistants made that I'd forgotten about. Of course.

But the suspicion won't go away… Those cursed sons of Feanor aren't so very far away, after all…

"There. Now tell me why you left."

"I did. I needed more iron." Now that the light is not shining in my face, I can look at her. She is more beautiful than I'd remembered, though I wonder how much of that is due to separation. I have heard that such things do happen, when a husband and wife do not see each other for a time…

"Eöl. Tell me _all_ of why you left."

"It doesn't matter now," I insist, taking a step forward. I want to embrace her, I want to feel her in my arms and know beyond a doubt that she is alive and well and unharmed, despite my temper. She doesn't flinch or turn away, for which I am grateful, but she does not look pleased, either, not like she did for a little while, before… "I came back, didn't I?"

"You did."

I take a few more steps forward, standing right in front of her and looking down at her face. "Aredhel," I whisper, my voice husky with desire. I wrap my arms around her, pressing her to my chest.

"Not now, Eöl. Not until you tell me why you left without telling anyone where you were going or when you would be back. You left the house in an uproar, Eöl."

"After," I tell her, and kiss her.

After, though I am sated in some ways, there is a sort of emptiness. I am not filled to the brim as I was before. She hardly responded to me. She didn't push me away, but she didn't _do_ anything, either. It was like… like she wasn't even _there_.

I roll away and sit up, elbows on my knees and chin in my hands. She doesn't move.

"Now will you answer me? The truth, Eöl."

I close my eyes and sigh. "Very well… I left because—" How to phrase this? "—Because I was afraid."

"Afraid?" Surprise and a little bit of irony. I do not wonder at that; she has every right.

"Afraid I would hurt you." I look at her, as if I can make her understand just by the pleading that must be in my eyes. "I've _never_ lost my temper like that, Aredhel. Never. I was terrified that I was going to do it again, and that it wouldn't be just an unfinished sculpture that was lying crumpled on the floor. I don't want to hurt you, Aredhel. I never wanted to hurt you."

One graceful black eyebrow lifts, as if she finds it hard to believe that last statement of mine. Then she shakes her head and laughs softly. "You did a very good job of pretending you did, husband."

"No… I…" I fall back on accusing her. It wasn't my fault that she was praising the Noldor in my very house! "You shouldn't have been singing about your kin, Aredhel. I've _told_ you not to speak of them in my home."

Her eyes are cold. "If you hate them so much, then I'm sure that you won't want a reminder of them in your bed every night." She stands and wraps a robe about herself.

I can only stare in shock. "Where are you going?" I manage to ask.

"To the guest chamber. Where you won't be offended by the sight of a Noldo." And she is gone.

For a time after she leaves, I sit in silence, touching the warm place on the bed where she lay and feeling it slowly cool under my hand. She doesn't mean it, I assure myself. She will come back to me, come back to my bed. She _will._ She cannot stay away…

But as the day wears on, and I am left alone, I realize that she isn't coming back to my bed. She will live with me as my wife, but I have made love to her for the last time.


End file.
